


limerence

by safona



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safona/pseuds/safona
Summary: But looking at those leaves, already halfway to decay while waiting for the first snow to overlap them, he thinks how glaringly obvious it is, how he stopped minding the shitty weather, the bleak look of the sky, how he actually began to enjoy the rotting leaves scattered across the ground, all because of one, singular person.All because Louis likes autumn. And because autumn, he's come to realize, suits Louis pretty well.With its fiery, bright colours, and its fierce, unforgiving winds, the frenzied way the leaves dance in the air, and the way he never knows what to expect of it, what will the next day bring.And the first time he realized he has stopped minding autumn, he also realized there was no way out.





	limerence

**Author's Note:**

> this is completely self indulgent and was written solely because autumn makes me think of zouis, feel free to ignore it.
> 
> x

_"I spiral back to me, sitting here, swimming, drowning, sick with longing."_  
  
_— Sylvia Plath  
_

  
  
Everyone has soft spots. And, contrary to popular belief, he also has some of his own. No matter what he sees in the tabloids, about him being the _bad boy_ of the group, the scary one, or whatever other bullshit label they like to put on him, he has a few things that he considers close to his heart.

Everyone also has things that scare them. And, again, no matter how much his friend tell him he always looks a minute away from beating someone up, what with the perpetually unamused expression on his face along with his quite hostile behaviour towards most people, he has things that he's afraid of, even if he might look like he doesn't.

And, without realizing it, Louis has become an odd mixture of both of those concepts.

Although, if he’s being completely honest, Louis being something he’s afraid of plays a bit of a bigger role at the moment.

It’s a fear deeply rooted in the emotional aspect of their relationship, the product of being so close to him for such a long amount of time. After having so many quiet nights in with him, when they curl up beside each other on the big couch on the bus, watching shitty telly and sharing thoughts and worries he never thought he would share so easily with another person, he should’ve realized how much it would affect him. To be so close to him.

Another thing he's afraid of is how quickly he's become attached to him. How quickly _everyone_ seems to get attached to him. It’s not a bad thing per se, but it brings out a sort of possessiveness he never knew he had in him, a need to preserve whatever sort of bond they have, something that he didn’t have before, and didn't realize needed.  
  
And now, watching Louis as he stands with his hip cocked to the side, Zayn’s jacket too big on his narrow shoulders, cheeks flushed from the cold air, and a smile that illuminates the grim look of late autumn while he talks to one of their crew members, it should be alarming how he can’t look away. How him becoming attached means all he can do is stare.  
  
Autumn suits him pretty well, Zayn reckons. Hand motions delicate, reminding him of the way leaves fall off the trees gently, whirling around, leaving invisible traces in the air the same way Louis leaves traces of himself in everyone he meets. It’s remarkable, how nobody cares about the way he seeps through the crevices of people’s vulnerable hearts, fills them out and then leaves them to bleed with longing, he himself oblivious to it.  
  
It’s always been like that. People coming, wanting, needing, and Louis leaving them split open, hearts battered and bruised, him completely unaware of the effect he has on other people.

And even if _he_ isn't aware, _Zayn_ is.

And it’s overwhelming how much it terrifies him. It’s even more so when he thinks about how much he doesn’t mind it, especially with him being one of those people.  
  
It’s cruel, as well as fascinating, he thinks. The way it feels like something has been misplaced in his chest whenever they part ways, all the clothes on his back suddenly weighing him down as though they’re trying to crush him, cotton and linen starting to feel like fire and cold water, his body burning with loss, freezing with the lack of touch from him.  
  
So. He can imagine what it's like to be in their position.  
  
“Ready?” he nudges Louis’ side gently, the fabrics of their clothes making a soft rustling sound, diluted by the steady wind beating on their backs. Louis looks up at him, face clouded by the smoke flowing from his mouth, lips chapped and too red for his own good.  
  
He always seems to be smoking; a constant, warm cloud enveloping Zayn every time he's standing close enough to him. Although. Sometimes it feels like it has nothing to do with the smoke after all.

The cigarette hangs in between his small, nimble fingers, the way he rolls it around every time before taking a drag a truly miniscule movement, almost unnoticeable.

But Zayn does notice it. He always seems to.  
  
Louis nods, takes the last drag from his cigarette and lets it fall to the ground, Zayn watching the motion patiently. Louis stomps it out with his boot then, buries it under a few fallen leaves, the small, burnt out body of it completely disappearing under a pile of, almost offensively, vivid crimson and gold, the colours glaring up at Zayn as though they're quietly mocking him.

He's never liked autumn. Not the grim look of it, not the way he can never tell what time of day it is, the sky looking exactly the same any waking hour. He's never liked how confusing the weather is either, how it can sometimes feel like the beginning of the summer, and sometimes the middle of the bloody winter.

But looking at those leaves, already halfway to decay while waiting for the first snow to overlap them, he thinks how glaringly obvious it is, how he stopped minding the shitty weather, the bleak look of the sky, how he actually began to enjoy the rotting leaves scattered across the ground, all because of one, singular person.

All because Louis like autumn. And because autumn, he's come to realize, suits Louis pretty well.

With its fiery, bright colours, and its fierce, unforgiving winds, the frenzied way the leaves dance in the air, and the way he never knows what to expect of it, what will the next day bring.

And the first time he realized he has stopped minding autumn, he also realized there was no way out. There was no way out of that mindset. That mindset where Louis reminds him of nothing, but everything reminds him of Louis.

He's startled when he feels a soft hand curl around the crevice of his elbow, looks up from the ground to Louis’ soft smile, to his nose scrunched in amusement as his gentle fingers travel down Zayn's forearm to his hand, eventually lacing their fingers together.

“Have you come back from the clouds yet?” Louis asks, starts to tug him gently in the direction of Zayn's car, hand warm and comforting in Zayn's own; lovely. Like Louis. “If you have, I'd really love to go, the other lads are waiting already.”

Zayn hums, buries his face in his scarf and starts walking, Louis’ hand falling off of his own instantly. He watches as Louis’ boots kick the rotting leaves around, and steers his mind away from the prickling cold that sits in between his fingers, where their skin was touching just a moment ago.

  
  
They cram into Zayn's place, shrill voices he doesn't recognize singing the wrong lyrics, smell of beer too harsh and worryingly too familiar. It sounds like Niall invited more people than he said he would, and Zayn reminds himself to never give Niall his keys, and the control over the guestlist ever again.

Louis takes off his jacket, giggling his life away at the voices coming from the living room, and it still feels like it's only the two of them, standing inches away, Zayn's fingers itching to take a hold of Louis’ wrist and tug him into an empty room, have him all to himself.

“Kitchen?” Louis asks, and looks up from where he's undoing his shoelaces, fingers working on a knot he's made by pulling on them too harshly. Zayn feels himself smile and crouches next to him.

“You don't wanna say hi first?” he takes Louis’ cold hands in his and pulls them away, wants to hold onto them, warm them up the way Louis’ shy smile does him when he starts untangling the laces himself.

“Too much noise,” he hears him say softly, and nods, understands a need to have a quiet moment to himself perfectly. “We can eat the gingerbread biscuits my mum made and just chill if that's fine by you.”

“'Course, Lou.”

 

He watches as Louis brings the mug up to his mouth carefully, hands delicately encircling it, pinkies resting on the bottom like he's afraid it might slip out and crush onto the kitchen tiles, make a constellation of homemade apple cider and dark porcelain pieces.  
  
He thumbs at his own cup, the teabag in it going round in circles, slow, slow, slow, a vast contrast to the warm tones of the water turning darker quickly, waiting for no one to adjust, to keep up with its pace as it changes. It feels like a metaphor, but when was he ever good at figuring metaphors out?  
  
He can hear people talking quietly in the living room, inaudible murmurs running through him like small shock waves, Louis slowly leaning into him like he can't keep upright. He feels hyper aware of everything and numb at the same time, stares as Louis' tongue goes over his lower lip, licking off the droplets of cider from it.  
  
And he wonders if he'd taste like apples, how the ginger and nutmeg coating Zayn's tongue would pair well with it, and he lets himself wonder how easy it would be, to reach out, to touch, to just let it happen. How easy it would be for it to be the first time out of a thousand idyllic moments existing only in his head, driving him insane, where he just. Lets it happen.  
  
_my heart's an old pole dancer,_ he hears the music play from the living room, _troubled romancer, you know_  
  
Time is fickle. And the dirty bowl of dried cereal on the counter reminds him of it, how everything passes too quickly to clean up the mess. And the piece of paper with a meaningless lyric he thought of weeks ago stuffed in between the white pages of a novel that lays on the table which he doesn't remember a word from silently screams to him, pleads to not waste time on distracting himself from what's important.  
  
_it's a subway chancer, a question with no answer_  
  
Time is fickle. And maybe that’s why, throat tight, eyes steady on the sheen layer of cider on Louis' lips, he finds himself leaning in.  
  
_come meet me by the river,_ words run in circles around them, _see how time it floats_  
  
Time is fickle. And maybe that's why, surrounded by the flickering of the light above them like it might give out any minute, by the apples and cinnamon wafting through the air, silently urging him on, offering him something he knows he's not ready for, he presses his lips to Louis', numbness turning to cotton, burning quickly through his veins, leaving traces he'll probably have a hard time getting rid of.  
  
_oh now the river runs away but i chase it,_  the voice sings from miles away, _time holds no fear when i turn round to face it_  
  
It's bitter, cinnamon stinging like a warning where the cold autumn wind made small cuts in his lips, taste of hidden glances and longing sighs lands on his tongue, like a wave crushes into him, violent and content with the chaos it brings with itself.  
  
_time holds no fear when i turn round to face it,_ rings around them, _time holds no fear when i turn round to face it_  
  
He feels a light pressure on the back of his neck, soft whisper of it pulling him in, hesitantly telling him _it's okay_ . And Louis doesn't seem afraid, so why should he be?  
  
Bright heat ripples under his palms as they inch under Louis' tee, and it follows as he traces the curve of his waist, goosebumps appearing on the smooth skin where his hands travel.

The music morphs into sounds of lips sliding together, uneven breaths and soft noises that spur him on, make him want to latch on and never let go, his skin burning blissfully where Louis’ fingers brush against it.

He lost his cup somewhere in between losing his fear and losing himself in the soft of Louis’ lips, both hands trembling where they hold onto him tightly, and he finds himself not caring wherever it leads to, falling in step with the vulnerability of this moment.

He doesn't know how long it goes on for, feels like too much and not enough when Louis pulls back, faces still inches away from each other, Louis’ small gasps for air hitting his face, taste of apples sitting heavy on his tongue.  
  
One of his hands grasps at Louis’ tee, rough material of it grounding him, not letting him slip into the numbing and constant feeling of wanting and not getting, holds onto the moment like it’s something fragile.  
  
But it is fragile, he thinks, as his own shallow breathing seems to disrupt the moment, lungs filling out with anxiety, the hold Louis has on his tee like an anchor, pulling him down into deep waters of anticipation and securing him simultaneously.  
  
“I’m—,” he chokes out and cuts himself off, not trusting himself to not let the words he wants to say the most slip out . The wind is beating on the one, single window in the kitchen, like it’s urging him on, telling him to just say it.  
  
Then Louis lets go of his tee.  
  
And Zayn is left freezing, like the cold from the outside has suddenly found its way to his heart, painting its walls in dreary colours of the rotting leaves and the gray skies, before two, slender arms wind themselves around his neck tightly, and he find himself looking into the most radiant, brilliant eyes the world has created.  
  
“If I knew,” Louis begins, warmth blossoming inside Zayn’s chest again with fervor. “That  it only takes a little apple cider for you to do this I’d start making it a long time ago.”  
  
And yes, Zayn will definitely start appreciating autumn much more from now on.  

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://saffona.tumblr.com/) | come say hi and let me know what you think
> 
> shout out to [Ri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosegoldhl/pseuds/rosegoldhl) for introducing me to Foals, I absolutely love their music.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
> Thank you for reading. ♥


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